


The Space That’s In Between

by grossrabbits



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Agender Kenma, Angst, Aromantic, Damaged father-son relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Non-binary character, Platonic Relationship, Swearing, alcoholic father, early morning conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossrabbits/pseuds/grossrabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation at 4am during an energy drink crash (for Kuro) and another sleepless night (for Kenma).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space That’s In Between

**Author's Note:**

> Monster was on offer at the shop and Kuroo likes a challenge. Idek man I just wrote one night and this happened. I hope it’s okay.  
> Title is from Dearly Beloved by Green Day. I 100% headcanon Kuroo’s a fan.

Kenma can’t touch the green Monster because it tastes like medicine, like the numbing shit dentists put in your mouth when you get your teeth taken out. It reminds them of the pain of the needle – it felt like someone was scraping the roof of their mouth off. They’d squeezed their mum’s hand so hard their nails dug in and it bled. So, why Kuro had decided it a good idea to drink six cans of the stuff, and _how_ he’d even managed it, is beyond Kenma. Kuro’s regretting it himself if the fingers tunelessly, gently, plucking bass strings is anything to go by. It’s not plugged in, thank whoever. If it was then Kenma and Rio would have an angry mob of neighbours to contend with.

                Kuro is lying on his back, on the floor, with a Hello Kitty cushion under his head. His bass is on his stomach. He absently plays it and stares at the ceiling. Kuro always crashes like this. If he had an outlet for all the energy he forces into himself he would be fine, but it’s a school night. They would have to get going in a few hours (Kenma checks their phone: 04:03). Kenma sighs; _yet another sleepless night brought to you by insomnia!_ They clap quietly.

                “I’ll be your studio audience if you need one.”

                “Thanks, I’m good. It’s done now anyway.”

                “Leave your faithful best friend out? Fine. Be that way.”

                There’s no bite in Kuro’s words. Kenma shifts their position, their bum’s going numb. They knock the big sound system in the process; _that_ galvanises Kuro. He crawls over to check his precious switches and dials. Kenma may roll their eyes at how he treats his equipment better than he treats himself, but then they remember that _he treats his equipment better than he treats himself_ , and feels their heart sink a bit.

                “It’s okay,” says Kuro. He goes to return to his original position, but Kenma loosely wraps their hand around his forearm. He looks up.

                “Kuro…” they begin. They want to distract him from whatever’s in his head, because a crash after energy drinks makes you _think_ , especially if you’re Kuro. And when Kuro _thinks_ … he can _think_ for days.

                “I’m thinking about when I had my teeth taken out again.”

                “Really?” says Kuro. He looks relieved by the prospect of conversation.

                “Yeah… It’s just…” Kenma rifles through their mind to find words, “I’m scared of needles now, so how will I ever get a tattoo or piercing?”

                “You want body mods?” Kuro says with eyebrows raised.

                “I’d like the option.”

                _Weak_ , they think, _this is such bullshit_. Kuro sits next to them, leaning against the bed. It may be crappy small-talk, but Kuro seems interested. _Anything not to think_ , probably.

                “What would you get?” he asks.

                Kenma shrugs. “Not sure,” they say, cursing themself for even starting such a topic that they genuinely _have no opinion on_ , “Maybe something game related?” They reach to their right to grab hold of the neglected little boombox that Kuro’s had since he was like, ten. It’s dusty but clean, except for the random tip-x scribbles all over it. Wait, is that Russian? They take a picture and send it to Lev. Who cares if it’s barely even ten past four in the morning? Lev can fucking deal.

                “Obviously,” Kuro snorts, “You’d suit one of those microdermals under your eye, you know the type?”

                Kenma, who is in the process of grabbing a tip-x tube that’s peeking out between the wall and a speaker, gives him the most startled look they can manage.

                “Fuck off,” they almost squeak, while Kuro starts cackling.

                “Okay, okay,” he relents, “But you would.”

                “Yeah, no. Not happening.” They shake the tube/pen thing, and try it out on their nail. Surprisingly, there’s still some in it. They finish coating their pinky in white before turning their attention to the CD player. They can paint the rest of their nails later – they have work to do.

                “What ‘bout you?” they ask, drawing a speech bubble around whatever they had sent Lev.

                “Hmm…” Kuro looks around his room. Kenma curses themself inwardly for allowing him to think, but at least it’s mundane, not _thinking_.

                “Aha!” he says, and stretches on his belly to get a CD on the other side of his room. He takes up the entire width of the damn floor (nearly). “This,” he says when he shuffles back, pointing to a heart shaped grenade on the cover.

                “The hand as well?”

                “Who knows?” he shrugs, then after a beat, “Probably not.”

                “Where?”

                “Huh?”

                “Where would you get it? As in, on you?” says Kenma as they add whiskers to their Russian speaking cat.

                “Oh… Arm, most likely. Here, perhaps,” he points at the underside his left forearm, just below the elbow.

                “That it?” Kenma begins to draw a stripy Russian cat now. “I reckon you’ll get more.”

                “Oho? Do you now?” Kuro smirks.

                “Yup. You don’t know the meaning of moderation, for example,” Kenma nods at the empty cans that are scattered suspiciously around Hello Kitty, as if she’s the one who took a bargain at the corner shop as a laying down of a gauntlet.

                “Curse of the Scorpio,” Kuro waves his hand dramatically. Kenma rolls their eyes. “Besides I’m fine,” he continues, “It’s not like it’s alcohol.”

                “It could be, one day.”

                “I’ll be fine.”

                Kuro strokes Kenma’s leg in an effort to be reassuring. He knows they worry about him; they wonder if he knows how much they want to punch themself because _why did you even let this come up?_

                “Kenma.”

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

                “Oh fuck, no, no! I know! Don’t worry.”

                Kenma is very tired. Tiredness, coupled with worry and a dash of bitter memories and a solvent, makes for tears. Like Hell Kenma’s going to let Kuro know that. They bite their lip as subtly as they can, but Kuro knows them better than he knows himself and wraps an arm around their shoulders.

                “Kenma, I’m not like him. I won’t turn out like my dad. I’ve made sure, you’ve made sure, Mum’s made sure. Even Yaku knows about it to a degree. I just, y’know… Go hard or go home, right? And I got that mentality from Mum, you know that.”

                Kenma nods.

                “You were thinking about him earlier, weren’t you?” they pluck up the courage to say.

                There’s a pause. They open their mouth to apologise, but the arm around their shoulder just tightens and Kuro’s head comes to rest atop theirs.

                “He took me to the skate park when I was little, before all the shit started, and I remembered this really cool lad doing awesome tricks and he had a Monster sticker and so… It’s stupid.”

                “It’s not stupid,” says Kenma, taking Kuro’s hand in theirs.

                “Dad bought me one, because I thought the can looked badass. I hated it then, he just laughed. I don’t even like it now, to be honest.” Kuro laughs.

                “Have you spoken to him lately?” Kenma almost whispers, terrified of each step they take, walking over eggshells that they know they made up because Kuro has _never_ yelled at them or taken offense whenever they ask this sort of thing. But he does have a bad habit of building up walls, and sometimes, even if he still holds Kenma’s hand, even if he still walks to school with them the next morning, they’re still metaphorically shut out for yet another night.

                Kuro squeezes their hand, “Last week, he texted me, asking how we all were, even you,” Kenma can feel the small smile on their head, “I said we were all fine, told him about school, what I’m going to do in uni, how volleyball’s going, just the regular stuff.”

                He audibly gulps.

                “He’s doing well in AA, and he’s taken up sport to try and help with the anger,” Kuro chuckles slightly, before he says, “He says he nearly went for volleyball, but didn’t want to ‘steal my thunder’, so he went for baseball instead.”

                Kenma tenses.

                “He doesn’t have his own bat.”

                Kenma relaxes. Kuro’s dad may never have actually hit, nor verbally abused him and Rio (at least to Kenma’s knowledge), but smashing glasses, breaking fixtures, and screaming blue murder after a few beers still leaves scars, ones that make Kuro flinch whenever Yaku’s a little _too_ hard on Lev, or when Inuoka slams the door to the gym because he’s late. They want to scream at him, ask him was the booze _really fucking worth it?_ Worth what it’s – no, _he’s_ – done to his son and ex-wife? For the last five years Rio has bought only plastic cups.

                “Worry about yourself, Kenma. Please.”

                _Too late_ , Kenma thinks as they turn to wrap their arms around Kuro’s neck and bring his head down to their shoulders. He brings his arms to encircle their waist, tightly, holding on with desperation because Kenma is the only constant, only friend he has right here, right now, in this moment. Tears dampen Kenma’s t-shirt, Kuro’s strong shoulders shake. Kenma wonders how many times they’ve both been here. Countless. How many more times? They don’t know, but they’ll always be ready.

-

“What time is it?”

                Kenma’s phone screen glares. Both they and Kuro squint and groan.

                “Like, five?” Kenma can’t tell, and they don’t bloody care because it’s too damn bright.

                “We should sleep.”

                Kenma laughs weakly, “That’d be nice.”

                “Shit, sorry…” Kuro sits up, and his eyes are fluttering.

                “You should sleep. You’re about to keel over anyway.”

                Kuro climbs onto his bed. He mumbles something to himself, must have been about his jeans because he then wiggles out of them and kicks them off. They land… somewhere. He mumbles again. Then he whines and waves his hand about over the side of the bed, hitting Kenma a few times in the process. The hand finally rests on their head and moves it back and forth in a nodding motion. More incomprehensible mumbling accompanies the movement. They sigh.

                “Ugh.”

                They put all their gadgets on top of the speaker and kneel on the mattress. They’re in trackies which should be reasonably comfy. Kuro lifts his head to allow them to drape an arm across the pillow. They have to kick him a few times to move backwards so they can both fit on the single bed. They hold Kuro and he grips their shirt. Both their legs tangle a little. It’s nice, easy, _right_. The first time they slept like this was when they were nine. Kuro had run to Kenma’s on a particularly ‘loud’ evening. Sometimes they switch positions. But every time, Kenma finds that even if they can’t sleep, they can doze, get some sense of rest. Half-sleep, kind of.

                “Night,” they say.

                Mumble.

-

Kuro is dead and Kenma is… Kenma, on the way to school. They had to rush, so both their stomachs are growling and they have cricks in their necks and now Kenma is sporting the bed-head look, but neither complain. Whatever. It’s done now anyway.

                And Kenma wouldn’t change it for the world.

                On the train, they check their phone. Three unread messages:

                [what are you showing me? ill ask alisa]

                [KENMA SAN HOW CULD YOU? WAH T HAV I EVER DONE TO DES ERVE HTIS??? I DONT EVNE!! WHYYYYY?????????????]

                [KENMA SAN ANSWRE ME!!!1!111]

                Kuro peers over Kenma’s shoulder and falls off his seat, howling.

**Author's Note:**

> Do they even have Monster in Japan? They do now.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> xo


End file.
